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The hallway outside my room creaked. I stirred in the cradle, blinking, as faint footsteps shuffled to a halt.

Elara.

I knew her rhythm by now—light but impatient, always in a rush to see after training. Usually she’d burst through the door with a grin, sword under one arm, and declare: “Little brother! Let’s play!”

But this ti, she stopped just short.

Because she had heard.

Mother and Father’s voices had carried through the house.

I stayed still, pretending to sleep. Elara lingered outside the door, her breath shaky, uneven. For a mont, she didn’t move. Then I heard it—her whisper, broken but fierce.

“…If they’re after you, Rooga… then I’ll protect you.”

The door creaked open just enough for her to peek in. Her eyes—red, determined—locked on my tiny form. She clenched her fists so tight her knuckles whitened.

“I swear it,” she whispered. “Even if Father says it’s impossible. Even if the world mocks . I’ll beco strong enough to keep you safe.”

Her voice cracked, but her gaze never wavered.

Then she slipped away, the door closing softly behind her.

I didn’t move. I didn’t cry. But my chest tightened in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

That night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, I heard it.

The whack of wood against wood. The clang of steel against practice dummies. Elara’s voice, panting, strained, muttering my na under her breath with every swing.

Again and again.

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Until the sound of her grip slipping echoed.

A soft thud. The clatter of her sword hitting the floor.

I managed to roll enough to peer out the window. There she was, beneath the moonlight, cradling her hands. The wooden hilt had chewed them raw—red streaks across her palms, spots of blood dripping onto the dirt.

But she didn’t stop. She picked the sword back up, bit her lip, and swung again.

Over and over. Until her hands shook. Until her knees buckled.

She looked up at the night sky and whispered, hoarse but resolute:

“I’ll protect you, Rooga… no matter what it costs .”

And she kept swinging.

The sound of wood striking wood echoed through the courtyard long past midnight. Selene stirred from her chair, setting aside the embroidery she hadn’t touched in hours.

Still training?

She slipped out silently, the chill night air brushing her cheeks.

And there, beneath the pale light of the moon, was Elara. Her little girl. Sword raised high, stance trembling.

Her swings were sharp, furious—desperate. Every strike hissed through the air, sweat dripping down her brow.

Her small hands clenched the hilt so tightly that Selene could see the skin splitting. Drops of red spattered the ground with each motion.

“Again,” Elara whispered to herself. “Again. For Rooga.”

Selene’s breath caught.

She had always known Elara’s determination—her hunger to prove herself in a world that dismissed her for being a daughter.

But now, Selene saw sothing more. Not just ambition. Not just pride. A vow, carved into her very soul.

Elara stumbled, the sword slipping from her bloodied hands. She fell to her knees, panting. For a heartbeat, she looked so small, so fragile.

Selene’s heart ached to run to her, to wrap her arms around her child and beg her to stop.

But she didn’t. She stood there quietly, tears welling in her eyes, and let her daughter rise again.

Elara picked up the sword with shaking fingers, biting her lip, and swung once more.

Selene’s tears slipped free, sliding down her cheeks. Her lips trembled as she whispered into the night.

“…Both of you. My Rooga. My Elara. Already carrying so much.”

Pride and sorrow mingled in her chest, twisting until she could hardly breathe.

She pressed a hand over her heart, whispering through her tears:

“You are my treasures… my pride. My little monsters.”

Under the silver moon, she watched her daughter train until exhaustion finally claid her.

Selene stepped forward then, draping a cloak over Elara’s shoulders and brushing her hair gently.

The girl didn’t stir, but a faint smile lingered on her lips.

Selene kissed her forehead softly. “Rest now, my warrior.”

Then she turned back toward the house, where Rooga slept peacefully. Her heart ached again—but it was the ache of love too vast for her body to hold.

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